


Flat Beautiful

by voleuse



Category: Topkapi (1964)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21883342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: I wanted to be smuggled. Wanted to ride past all the alarms.The cycle is a compulsion that Elizabeth never wants to stifle.
Relationships: Elizabeth Lipp/Walter Harper
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Flat Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kattahj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattahj/gifts).



> Set after the events of the movie.

_i. sunk to a sulphur crystal_  
The punishment of the Turkish prison was the indignity, rather than any stark hardship. The summons to the yard, the arbitrary parade, the baggy uniforms. Elizabeth would kill for a pair of silk gloves, absolutely kill for them.

She was, she suspected, better off than the boys, though--being lumped together meant they had confederates in commiseration, while Elizabeth wore her relative isolation as a badge of honor.

So Elizabeth settled with combing her hair with her fingers and dining on stale flatbreads and tinny water. And when yard time came, she slunk to the gate and leaned against Walter's shoulder, his warmth a delicious contrast with the cool of the rusted iron bars.

_ii. rain rained in my aquamarine_  
It only took a phone call from one of her solicitors, as well as a judicious promise of a few crates of American cigarettes. Elizabeth was out in less than a week; she made sure to blow the boys a kiss before she sauntered out of the prison.

Walter stared at her steadily, so she mouthed _Catch me_ and then skipped out to hail a taxicab.

She briefly considered returning to the Captain, if only for a bit of diversion while she waited for the boys to catch up. But then she would have to endure all his reproachful declarations of love, and honestly, she'd rather return to prison uniforms and gruel.

A quick sojourn at that villa in Seville, she decided. Sunshine and a healthy diet of amorous college boys on vacation would be just the thing.

_iii. a dictionary to demonstrate my transparency_  
Elizabeth liked to humor Walter, so she gracefully acquiesced when he claimed he taught her their art, rather than the truth that they had evolved together. As if she hadn't prompted him into the articulation of their three rules, every time.

  1. Plan meticulously
  2. Execute cleanly
  3. Don't get caught before or during or after



She also did not tease him whenever his meticulous plans spun out of his control, when life got in the way of the architecture of their latest endeavor. There was a pattern to it.

  1. The plan has new variables thrown in at the last minute: Walter rants
  2. Simple tasks go awry and they have to fall on back-ups: Walter is grimly smug
  3. The designated schmoe gets caught: Walter decries the decline of civilized thought



Walter was never so compelling as right after his feathers had been ruffled. He thought she loved him for his discipline, when really, she loved him most when lost hold of it.

_iv. my name meant blood, meant seawater, meant lemon_  
Elizabeth trailed her fingers over the passports she had fanned in front of her. _Alisa Cordova_ , Spain. _Liezl Huber_ , Austria. (Walter had got rather flustered when she used that one, which is why she'd co-opted his name in the first place.) _Tibbie Harrak_ , Morocco. _Lisa Everleigh_ , Great Britain. And on, and on, and on.

She had long grown used to slipping in and out of names as if they were fur coats. It was, in fact, her favorite part of the game. The arched eyebrows of a Moldovan heiress. The flirty moue of a Parisian stockgirl. The haughty posture of a South African expat. She was never quite good at the accents, but with the right papers, a lavish wardrobe, and a skirt slit up to her thigh, Elizabeth found she could pass for anyone she wanted.

This time around, she was Libby Boutroux, a retired French opera singer who wintered in Vietnam. It was, she told the agents at the border, her very first visit to Moscow, and she just couldn't wait to--and she managed a faint blush--perhaps visit one of those bathhouses she had read about in those novels.

By the time she was through to the train station, she was on a first-name basis with Mikhail, who promised to call upon her at the Metropole when he was released from his inspection duties. (The darling boy had been so flustered by her decolletage that he had absolutely neglected to discover the Derringer strapped around her left thigh.) She had only just unpacked her valise, though, when a knock sounded on her door.

Elizabeth felt her smile bloom as she loosened a few buttons on her blouse. And yes, when she pulled the door open, it was Walter glowering on the other side.

_v. spilled all over velvet_  
The bolt clinked loudly as Walter slid it into place, which felt to Elizabeth like the best kind of dinner bell. She didn't wait for Walter to turn around; she embraced him from behind, sliding her arms around his waist. She drummed her fingers against his belt buckle, and felt his chuckle when she pressed her cheek against his shoulder blade.

"Should I be relieved you haven't found another captain to replace me?" Walter asked. He turned in her arms so he could look down at her, watch her as she tipped her head, exposed her throat.

"Dear boy," Elizabeth purred. "By this time, I'd have moved up to a colonel at the very least."

He hooked a finger over the top button of her blouse, looking pleased as it gave way, and then the next, and the next.

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders, letting the cloth fall into a puddle at their feet. She slid her hands under the hem of Walter's jacket and tugged his belt loose. "Perhaps a general," she mused.

"So how many emeralds will we find in the Kremlin?" he asked. He eased her skirt off her hips, and she smirked as his gaze fell to the lacy tops of her stockings.

"There are sapphires as well," she pointed out. Then Walter hoisted her over his shoulder, and they were tumbling onto the bed in three bounds. "Scepters, darling. Practically encrusted with diamonds."

"Keep talking," Walter said, and she managed to, right up until the end.

_vi. give me a break-in like a kaleidoscope_  
The jewels were an excuse, albeit a lovely, lucrative excuse. What Elizabeth really loved, however, was the prelude. Seducing Walter with the promise of another puzzle. Charming the various mischief-makers and miscreants into eager participation. Watching Walter unravel as their three steps inevitably turned upside-down.

When he finally placed the scepter in her hands, she almost forgot to count the emeralds. Walter tugged the scepter back, and drew her close, and asked her, "What next?"

**Author's Note:**

> Title, summary, and headings adapted from Patricia Lockwood's [Jewel Thief Movie](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/143938/jewel-thief-movie).


End file.
